


A New Arrangement

by EatYourHeartOut



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dating, Domestic Bliss, Fluff, I am not British enough to be writing this, Less Porn, M/M, More plot, Sex does happen though, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, healthy relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:41:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23057167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EatYourHeartOut/pseuds/EatYourHeartOut
Summary: One year since the world didn't end and a certain angel and a certain demon are getting a little restless with the status quo.Pushing the envelope proves to have some dire consequences though, as the forces of Heaven and Hell don't have much patience for Crowley and Aziraphale's new arrangement. Will the two of them be able to weather divine punishment for an unforgivable sin? Or will they find a loophole to keep their newfound love safe in the Grand Scheme?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	1. Progress

Crowley was in the middle of an important mission. A nefarious assignment. A very sordid task.

He was trying, extremely hard, to keep himself from giving an old man a heart attack. 

“Mr. Crowley…I already tell you, that item not for sale!” The exasperated elderly man told him as he threw his hands in the air for the hundredth time.

“And I already told you, Mr. Chang, that we both know that is as big of a lie as your bad Chinese accent – so Name. Your. Price.”

The man started to engage in a staring contest with Crowley, which was incredibly stupid considering that Crowley was still wearing his sunglasses despite the antique store’s bad lighting. His fingers itched as he eyed the old tea pot he was trying to purchase. He was about ten seconds away from turning his own head briefly into that of a giant crooked-toothed serpent and then just lifting the pot while the old man was knocked unconscious from shock.

Finally Mr. Chang sighed and glanced around the store – mercifully empty at the moment. “Alright, Mr. Crowley, but I have another buyer for that particular item.” The old man had dropped the phony accent for something a bit more British. “This is an authentic Chen Mingyuan after all. I doubt you can meet their price. Perhaps you’d be interested in this tea set instead?” He gestured to a set of gaudy looking porcelain cups that the man must have picked up in the sale bin at a Good Will. Crowley didn’t even acknowledge that insulting offer. The teapot he wanted and a very old coin that had been wedged in the floorboards years ago under the cash desk were the only real antiques in the place and he wasn’t going to settle for garbage.

“Will this be enough?” Crowley asked producing a piece of paper with a number on it that probably had way too many zeros at the end. The man’s eyes bulged when he saw it and Crowley hoped no one would blame him if the man actually did have a heart attack.

“Do I make the cheque out to Mr. Chang?” Crowley asked when the man didn’t answer. He dug his chequebook out of his pocket and miracled up a pen to write it out with. The man didn’t notice – still too focused on all the zeros.

“Um…Shephards, actually. Daniel Shephards.” The man ducked his head sheepishly as Crowley raised an eyebrow and wrote out the money. 

“Pack that up for me, will you? Put a bow on it if you’ve got it,” Crowley said as he handed over the cheque with a smile. “It’s a gift.”

Crowley’s cell began to jingle. “Speak of the angel. Hello?” he said as he answered the phone.

A melodious voice that Crowley could have had recorded and listened to for all of eternity replied or until it morphed into another Best of Queen album. (Heh, Bohemian Rhapsody by the Guardian of the Eastern Gate) “Crowley!” he said, obvious glee in his voice making Crowley’s heart skip. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day!”

“I’m sorry Angel,” Crowley smiled into the phone and shook his head at the ribbon “Mr. Chang” held up to put on the box. The man frowned and went searching for a different one. “I’ve been running some errands.”

“Well, I was hoping we could get together for dinner tonight. I was thinking we could go to Le Gavroche.”

“Le Gavroche? Well that’s fancy – what’s the occasion?” Crowley asked as the elderly man returned, holding up two ribbons. Crowley thought for a moment and then selected the pale blue one.

“Why Crowley! You can’t have forgotten. It’s the anniversary!” 

“Anniversary? I don’t recall ever getting married,” he teased to cover his own delight at the idea. “Haven’t even got you a gift.”

“Not _our_ anniversary – the anniversary of Armageddon! Well, what would have been Armageddon anyway. We should celebrate!” Crowley grinned at the words. An angel celebrating Armageddon? What a strange world we live in. “Of course,” Aziraphale continued, voice drooping into a sullen tone. “If you have other plans I would understand.”

“I will absolutely see you at Le Gavroche for our anniversary tonight,” Crowley replied as “Mr. Chang” finished up with his gift.

“Not our anni – oh never mind. Pick me up at five,” Aziraphale told him before hanging up. They didn’t really end calls with a goodbye anymore.

“Thanks,” Crowley said as he grabbed his well-padded box with the light blue bow on it and tucked it under his arm.

“Isn’t it the devil?” The old man asked and Crowley frowned, feeling his blood pressure spike. He looked around the store but saw no one (aside from himself) who could be matching that description.

“Earlier. You said – ‘speak of the angel’ but isn’t it ‘speak of the devil’?” he clarified. 

“Not when you’re talking about him.” Crowley pointed to his phone to illustrate. “Mr. Chang” shifted awkwardly – as Crowley had begun to notice more than a few people did around him. Though normally it happened when Aziraphale was around and Crowley was being an insufferable flirt. 

“Ah,” the man said, tucking the cheque into the pocket of his trousers. Crowley smiled stiffly and bid him farewell and if the maybe homophobic and definitely racist owner of a small scam of an antique shop went to the bank later today to find a hole had miraculously appeared in his pocket and the cheque had slipped out into one of the hundreds of sewer grates in London – then Crowley certainly wasn’t going to be losing any sleep over it.

He tucked the blue bowed gift into the passenger seat of his Bentley, clipping the seat belt around it to keep it in place and then drove off in search of something to occupy himself for the next three hours before his meeting with Aziraphale.

…

Aziraphale had been very much enjoying this new arrangement of theirs. (Being so new it didn’t yet warrant the capitalization.) No assignments or insufferable pricks from Heaven barking down his throat for using a miracle to re-heat his tea one too many times. He presumed Crowley also enjoyed being left alone by the various forces of Hell. And now they could meet up any time they felt like it, for a glass of wine or a slice of cake and there was nothing to be worried about!

There was…that ever-present itch of boredom to be worried about, however. The human world had always been interesting – was still interesting – but before there had always been new orders coming down the tube to keep him busy. And If he was being honest, Aziraphale had sort of enjoyed the darting around Heaven’s back with Crowley. But now…it was silence on all fronts and the brief cherished moments had begun to stretch into long pleasant hours and above average days. Nothing to complain about, of course, but it would be nice for some variation, just a tad bit of danger to spice things up. It would make the small pleasantries of a particularly delicious glass of Marlot or a perfectly poached pear taste all the sweeter.

Of course, the one thing that never seemed to wane in its delicious taste were evenings with Crowley. 

He always had an anecdote that Aziraphale hadn’t heard or an interesting take on some new human thing. Crowley didn’t seem to have any particular tastes when it came to food and drink, allowing Aziraphale to pick what he pleased. He listened to Aziraphale’s stories and opinions with rapt attention and he was delightful to argue with.

Aziraphale supposed he should simply be grateful for the mundane life he was now leading – and moreso for having Crowley as his companion through it.

Speaking of the devil, Aziraphale ceased his adjusting of the philosophy books when he heard the unmistakable sound of the Bentley’s tires on the pavement outside his shop. 

Crowley was waiting for him, a tiny smile playing across his lips when he saw Aziraphale walk out of the bookshop. Aziraphale returned the smile with one of his own as he made his way to the car.

As he was about to sit down, he noticed a wooden box with a pale blue bow sitting on the seat. He looked at Crowley but the demon said nothing so Aziraphale carefully placed the box on his lap and re-clipped the seat belt around them both.

“What’s this?” he asked. Crowley’s expression stilled the way it did whenever he was trying to look aloof. 

“Oh, just something I picked up. Open it.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought you said you hadn’t got me a gift,” he teased. Crowley glanced over at him from the road, lips still pressed to conceal what Aziraphale guessed to be a grin.

“I didn’t. I just saw it in a store this afternoon and thought you might like it.” Crowley turned his eyes back to the road with a shrug.

“That’s called a gift, dear.” Aziraphale pulled apart the blue ribbon and opened the box. It took him a moment to sort through all the packing but when he did, he gasped. Now Crowley did nothing to conceal his grin. 

“This is a Chen Mingyuan!” Aziraphale exclaimed, checking the bottom of the Yixing teapot for the sealmark. It had none of the tell-tale sign of a forgery. He held the teapot up to admire the purple clay and the detailing on the spout and handle that made it look like a pumpkin. “Where on earth did you find one for sale?”

“So, you like it then?” Crowley asked, avoiding the question. Aziraphale figured the antique may have found its way into Crowley’s possession by suspicious means – and so he didn’t press for more information.

“I love it! Thank you, Crowley. What a wonderful gift.” Aziraphale said instead – admiring the clay one more time before carefully wrapping the piece back up. He expected Crowley to tell him to shut up or make a quip about how little he thought of the antique but the demon stayed quiet – face gone all stiff again.

“I just wish I had something for you in return,” Aziraphle continued in the silence.

“Oh, that’s not necessary. The teapot was just a coincidence really,” Crowley explained. Aziraphale wasn’t entirely convinced that a priceless, one-of-a-kind teapot from the Qing Dynasty just happened upon Crowley as a coincidence but he dropped it. (Not the teapot, the argument.)

Aziraphale was warm with a lovely feeling that set the tone for the rest of the evening. Dinner was delightful. Aziraphale’s stone bass was delicious and the raspberry and praline millefeuille was absolutely divine. Crowley didn’t eat much, as per usual. But they spent dinner reminiscing about the past six thousand years. Every time they got together Aziraphale learned a little bit more about what Crowley had been up to when they hadn’t been crossing paths. He hadn’t realized he’d spent time in Australia! Aziraphale had only been briefly but didn’t much care for it. (Vegemite wasn’t something he could even pretend to enjoy.)

The conversation turned to more recent activities when Aziraphale asked for the bill. They’d been through a good bottle and a half of wine and were making plans to take things back to Crowley’s. (Normally they went to the bookshop, as it was a bit more suited for company – but Crowley claimed he had a bottle of Macallan Single Malt back at his flat and that had ended the debate.) 

“I feel a bit…empty you know?” Aziraphale complained. “Like the world is my oyster and you know - _you know_ I love oysters…but it somehow felt more exciting when I was working. Now it doesn’t feel as exciting anymore.”

“Perhaps you’re getting depressed,” Crowley mused, offering Aziraphale his arm as he exited the Bentley. Aziraphle gave him a look that made Crowley roll his eyes. “I just mean you’re probably feeling bad cause you’ve lost your purpose. And I can relate! I mean – just look at me the other day! They put in one of those new fucking Apple Stores a block from my flat. Which, by the way, I feel I should be getting some kind of royalties from the use of that name but whatever. The point is that I fixed the order for the slabs they were putting in the stairs. One’s just a teensy bit uneven. Workers figured no one would notice and put it in anyways. And now everyone coming out of that store carrying their new Apple TV or Iphone 38 or Air Cloud Watch thingy trips. Half the time they smash their purchase to pieces and freak right out! It’s great work! But then I kept thinking what’s it all for? I mean Hell wouldn’t have even appreciated it while I was working for them. And I find it amusing enough but is it even worth it if I don’t get credit for my work?”

Aziraphale nodded along while they made their way up to Crowley’s flat. Once inside, Aziraphale made himself comfortable on the white leather sofa. (Or as comfortable as one could make oneself while trying to avoid the temptation to miracle up one – just one comfortable cushion. The ones on Crowley’s sofa were just for show and had the shape and consistency of black marble which was wonderfully aesthetic but extremely unpleasant to rest against.)

Crowley interrupted Aziraphale’s internal rant about the pillows with a glass of scotch and Aziraphale took it with an enthusiastic thanks. Crowley sat next to him on the couch, sprawling like he did. 

“You might be right about the purpose...I don’t want to admit it but I miss Heaven always peering over my shoulder. I don’t even know what they’re up to now! Are they even still mad about the whole hellfire thing? I almost wish they were!” Crowley raised his eyebrows at that and Aziraphale could feel the alcohol buzzing through him. “Look, m’not…I’m not saying that I want the whole Armaggedon thing to happen again, but it would be great if there was something! I kind of miss it…you and me against the rest of them.” He took another swallow of scotch while Crowley watched him.

“They’ve written some books about this, Angel. Self-help books. It sounds like you need self-actualization,” Crowley said.

“Hold on, you’ve been reading self-help books?” Aziraphale asked, unable to picture the demon curled up on this couch with Dr. Phil’s latest.

“They’re – I mean, you know it’s –“ Crowley flailed for a few moments before scowling. “You know what, shut up. It’s all very scientific. You see it’s like this pyramid and on the bottom you’ve got like food and shelter and security. Then you’ve got intimacy and social interactions and self esteem and then at the top you’ve got self-actualization – achieving your full potential. And you’ve got to meet all the – the criteria to…uh…be happy or something.”

“But I’m an angel, Crowley. We don’t need to eat or sleep or even shelter really,” Aziraphale pointed out. “And I can assure you my self-esteem is fine.”

“Okay then what about uh…intimacy?”

“Well I’m intimate enough with you aren’t I?” 

Crowley’s face went all stiff again and Aziraphale frowned, trying to figure out what he’d said wrong. 

“Right, so self-actualization then. Like I said.” Crowley finished the rest of his scotch and Aziraphale followed suit. He declined when the demon offered him another one though. He felt like he’d missed something and more alcohol certainly wasn’t going to help him figure it out.

“Well, what about you then?” Aziraphale asked.

“What about me?” Crowley asked back as he got up to pour himself another glass from the kitchen.

“Are you self-actualized?” 

Crowley chuckled, leaning on the wall behind the couch, so Aziraphale had to turn all the way around to look at him. “Well I suppose there’s always room for improvement.”

“What does that even mean? Self-actualization?” Aziraphale wondered aloud.

“Oh, there were a bunch of things that count for it…like achieving goals and using your talents. Parenting.” Crowley waved his hands generally in the air.

“Parenting!” Aziraphale clapped his hands together excitedly. “Oh, you would make a wonderful father.” Crowley nearly choked on his scotch.

“W-what?” he managed to cough out. 

“Don’t what me. We spent near a full decade raising Warlock. I saw how you were with him, Nanny,” Aziraphale teased. The barest hint of a blush rose to Crowley’s cheeks.

“I wasn’t raising him! I was trying to corrupt him! And he turned into a little shit if I recall correctly,” Crowley retorted. “So, mission accomplished I guess.” Aziraphale laughed, feeling more than a bit tipsy now and having already forgotten what they were originally talking about. He’d got caught up in picturing Crowley with a bunch of little red headed tykes around him.

If the night were to have just ended there, Aziraphale would have had no complaints.

…

Aziraphale was well and drunk. Crowley was too, of course, but he felt he was handling it a little better.

At least he wasn’t making up weird accusations about fatherhood.

This was not how he intended the night to go. A lot of nights with Aziraphale didn’t quite go as he intended. Where had the plan gone wrong? Dazzle him with a perfect gift, let him eat and drink his fill of delicacies and fine wine, charm him with interesting conversation, get him back to his place, then perhaps leave a hand on his for a little too long – make it linger. Or trail his fingers across the back of his arm a bit, just enough to get Aziraphale thinking about it for the next few days. 

But no! Instead he’d got sidetracked talking about human psychology and intimacy and parenting of all things. Crowley swirled the bit of scotch left in his glass. Perhaps the mistake was all the alcohol. He preferred to have it as a buffer – an excuse if he pushed things a little too far. He sighed aloud.

“I’m going to sober up a little,” he told the angel. Aziraphale’s eyebrows went up on his face.

“Oh! Yes, yes, me too.” They both focused and the familiar whoosh of the alcohol leaving his system made Crowley stagger a bit.

Aziraphale rose from the couch and took the now full glass of scotch from his hand. “Let me get that for you, dear,” he said, taking the glass back to the kitchen. Crowley’s eyes tracked him of their own accord. “I’m sorry if that topic of conversation was a bit too personal,” Aziraphale said, turning to hand Crowley a new glass of sparkling water with lime in it.

“Not at all, Angel,” Crowley said. He took a sip to clear the bad taste from his mouth. “I just don’t think the self-actualization tier is where I need the improvement.” Crowley has venturing dangerously close to going too far but hadn’t the angel just been complaining about being stagnant? It seemed like it could be a perfect time to push the envelope.

“Ah well I have always said you could stand to expand your palate,” Aziraphale grinned. Crowley rolled his eyes and took a few steps towards the angel leaning against the island. He stopped in front of him and placed his glass on the counter beside Aziraphale, getting a bit close as he did. He leaned his now free hand on the counter.

“I was talking about the other section – about intimacy.” Crowley tried to seem smooth about it despite the hammering in his chest that was no doubt audible. He took Aziraphale’s hand gently in his, holding it up slightly as he rubbed a thumb over the angel’s knuckles.

Aziraphale looked from Crowley to their hands and back to Crowley. And then it was like a dam broke behind Aziraphale’s face and an entire series of emotions flooded across it before Crowley let his hand drop. The emotions settled some with the absence of Crowley’s touch but it took another second for Aziraphale to get a hold of himself. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s eyes darted around and his cheeks were a delightful pale pink in the dim light as he spoke, “are you trying to….court me?”

Crowley stared at the angel. No it couldn’t be. His angel was gullible sure, even naive at times but surely not completely clueless.

“Um…yeah?” Crowley replied. Aziraphale’s cheeks lit up like someone had knocked a dimmer up behind them. Was he fucking serious?

“Since…uh….since when?” he asked when he’d regained the use of his voice, eyes still darting around and avoiding Crowley’s gaze. 

“Oh I dunno sometime around the seventh century maybe? Before that it was more of a crush really.” His eyes went wide and the angel’s cheeks were absolutely glowing now. Crowley resisted the urge to reach out and feel their heat with a palm. 

“And you’re just now getting to -to _this_?” Some kind of boldness had seized the angel and his eyes finally met Crowley’s. It sent a slight shiver up his spine but Crowley chose to ignore it in favor of his annoyance.

“You told me I moved too fast!” Crowley snapped. It only took Aziraphale a second to recall the conversation he was talking about. 

“I…I was talking about your driving!” Aziraphale argued back. Crowley’s mouth fell open.

“My… _driving!?_ ” Crowley couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Years…hundreds of them! He’d been very careful to go by Aziraphale’s pace, even before “you go too fast for me Crowley”. Don’t overstep, don’t push – okay well push a little but not too much. Gently, more of tap – a bit of ushering in the right direction. Too bad his angel was denser than a bag of bricks. 

Crowley sighed and took several steps back. Give the idiot some breathing space. And he certainly needed it, Aziraphale looked like his head was reeling.

Crowley stalked around and collapsed onto the leather couch, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. Aziraphale followed him back into the living room but stayed by the wall behind the couch. “Well cat’s out of the bag now, isn’t it?” he said, more to himself than to the angel. “I’ve never been rejected before – can’t say I enjoy this.”

“I never said I was rejecting you…” Aziraphale said quietly. Crowley’s ears perked up and he turned to look at his blushing angel. What was all this now? A grin slowly began to split across Crowley’s face.

“Oh don’t look at me like that! I haven’t said yes yet either!” Aziraphale snapped.

“Look at you like what?” Crowley asked with as much feigned innocence as his demonly voice could employ.

“L-like you’re…hungry or something…”Aziraphale muttered. Crowley couldn’t help it, his grin grew wider. He got up from the couch, enjoying the look of panic on the angel’s face as he stepped closer.

“C-c-crowley…I…uh…don’t..um….p-perhaps we should…” he stammered, stumbling backwards until Crowley had him backed up into a corner. He kept about a foot between their bodies, despite the urge to just pin the angel against the wall and occupy that stuttering tongue of his. 

“A date!” Aziraphale looked a little shocked at the idea that had wormed its way out of his mouth but when he spoke again he did it with new found resolve. “We should go on a date. I can’t very well give you an answer if we’ve never even been on a date.”

Crowley cocked an eyebrow. “A date?” What did he think they’d been doing for the past couple thousand years?

“Yes! A date! Ooh we could go dancing!” His hands clasped together in glee at the idea.

“No no no…no. No.” Crowley shot the idea down immediately. Aziraphale’s face fell a touch and if that didn’t just shoot half an arrow through his heart. “I can certainly come up with something better than _that_ for our first real date,” he muttered. The sudden twitch tugging upwards at the corner of the angel’s lips didn’t escape his notice. “How’s this Friday at six for you?” 

“Friday sounds lovely,” he replied. Crowley stared at him for a moment and felt his heart skip a beat when he realized his angel was staring _back_. But then it was over and Aziraphale averted his gaze again, clearing his throat.

“Well then…I suppose I best be off,” he said. 

“Oh?” Crowley’s smile turned into a smirk as he took the teensiest step forward. ¾ of a foot between them now. 

His adam’s apple bobbed slightly as Aziraphale swallowed and Crowley shifted again. ½ a foot.

Crowley slowly brought up his forearms to place on the wall above the angel’s head. Aziraphale only flinched slightly. ¼ foot.

He leaned forward, ever so slowly and Aziraphale let out a tiny, almost soundless squeak, eyes darting down to glance at Crowley’s lips as he started to catch the drift of Crowley’s intentions. Crowley’s tongue flicked out to wet them and he saw Aziraphale’s eyes grow wider. 1 ½ inches. 

“Um….C-c-crowley…” Aziraphale whispered. 1 inch.

Just a bit more. Crowley leaned forward, ready to close the space between them. Aziraphale’s eyelids fluttered. ½ inch.

And then suddenly he was gone. Miracled out of Crowley’s apartment. The demon huffed in annoyance at the now empty space in the corner. He glanced behind him, halfway hoping Aziraphale had just moved about the apartment. No such luck. 

“What are you looking at?” he growled at the nearby fern on his coffee table. The plant shrunk back slightly but Crowley couldn’t keep up the anger. The smile bloomed back onto his face and he began to pace. Finally! Some fucking progress! A date even! It had to be good, no – perfect. 

Though, maybe it didn’t matter how the date went. After all, the angel had just miracled out of Aziraphale’s apartment. The very same angel that wouldn’t miracle away a stain on his own jacket. Even a year after Armaggedon and hundreds of years after being reprimanded for frivolous miracles, he was still stingy with them. That either meant he was embarrassed as all hell or he despised Crowley and judging by the hue of his cheeks and the grin in his eyes – there were ten to one odds it was the former.

Crowley was so ecstatic he almost nearly danced out of the room to start making plans.


	2. First Date

Aziraphale caught his breath in the middle of the darkened bookstore – heart pounding. 

Well that had been….a revelation. Well sort of. Not really. Of course he’d known. Crowley wasn’t exactly subtle. And Aziraphle had used it hadn’t he? When he’d tried to protect Crowley. When he’d threatened to never speak to him again if he didn’t come up with something to stay the Apocalypse. Come now, Crowley, you didn’t react like that if your feelings were simply platonic. 

Aziraphale wrung his hands as he tried to calm down. This could be very bad. Probably also very good in some ways but lots of worries pointed towards very bad. 

Their respective sides were leaving them alone now. But that could change quite easily. Especially if they found out about this new aspect of their relationship. They weren’t just fraternizing anymore, now they were… _conjugating_. And then there was the whole change of it all. Being friends was familiar. It was solid. Being…lovers…(Aziraphale felt an involuntary tingling on his skin as he thought of the word) was tenuous. What if Crowley changed his mind? What if he didn’t meet expectations? Would he lose his best friend forever? Or would he be doomed to that awkward ‘oh yeah we’re still friends’ state for the rest of eternity?

And then there was the big thing, the one that was niggling him very deep down. What if he just didn’t…feel that way about Crowley? He was fond of him, sure but Crowley had once offered for them to run away to the stars together and he’d turned him down. He liked to think it was out of a sense of moral obligation to the earth but what if it wasn’t? What if the idea of being with Crowley was what had stayed his decision? And surely if that was the case, paired with knowing how Crowley felt about him all these years – then wasn’t the logical conclusion that he was just using Crowley this entire time? 

The guilt of that possibility weighed Aziraphale down enough he had to stumble over to one of his arm chairs and take a seat. 

“You’re an angel Aziraphale. A good person,” he assured himself but the reminder just started up the whole thought spiral once again.

He took a deep breath to steady himself and thrust his train of thoughts onto a different track. He should be excited really. He had a date this Friday after all. He wondered what he should wear? Hopefully Crowley would give him a heads up if they were going somewhere with a dress code. Should he bring flowers? Or perhaps a potted plant – the demon was fond of his plants. 

As he thought more about Friday, Aziraphale felt his worries…well not melt away, more like stuff themselves in a freezer for a later date. A giggle bubbled out of him.

This was going to be fun!

…

This was going to be terrible. 

It was Friday afternoon – three hours before he was to pick up the angel and Crowley hadn’t decided where to take him yet. Days of planning and not a single idea to show for it!  
What did Aziraphale even like? Books? He owned a bookstore – going to another book store on a date would have been bad tact, and the library? Who the hell takes their date to a library? 

He also liked music and theatre though, and this was London! There was always a Carmina Burana or a Sibelius Symphony going on somewhere. Wouldn’t have been hard to get tickets. Probably wouldn’t have even had to use a miracle.

But somehow that didn’t seem special enough. They’d seen all the plays and operas and symphonies written and performed in their original heyday. Adaptations were fine and all but they weren’t special. And all the modern stuff was going through another experimental phase. Crowley doubted much of it would classify as Aziraphale’s cup of tea.

He would have thought food was a safe bet. A nice eatery, something undiscovered that Crowley could introduce him too. But Aziraphale had bloody well been everywhere! He already knew all the best places to eat! And again with the modern style, high class places – they were filled with experimental gelatins and teeny tiny salads served in acorn caps. Crowley suspected more than a little demonic influence must have gone into creating those restaurants. 

Maybe he could take the angel somewhere he himself wanted to go? Share his interests and all that? But he just couldn’t see Aziraphale enjoying himself much in a casino or at the movies. He supposed there was always wine-tasting as a shared interest. But as much as he enjoyed getting shit-faced with his angel, Crowley wanted to be sober for this. 

As time ticked bravely on, Crowley was starting to get desperate. He was staring at a bunch of atlases and travel magazines he had floating around his living room. 

“The pyramids? Eh…they’re not really all that great,” he muttered, shooing the page away. “Picnic in the Amazon? No, he’d complain endlessly about the humidity.” He swooshed up another page. “Brunch in Paris? Ugh, that’s just a regular Sunday for him!” He started to flick through the pages rapidly.

“A nice hotel…?” The blood rushed to his face and he immediately shoved that idea to the side. If Aziraphale was prepared to teleport out of a kiss then he sure as hell wasn’t going to stick around for that. Even if he was interested in that. Crowley paused before dog earing the particularly sleek looking hotel room pages. Another date perhaps. 

Okay focus. Think. The picnic wasn’t a bad idea. Collect some wine, some pastries, some fruit and cheese, wrap it all up nice in basket. But where to take the nice basket? Somewhere equally nice. Somewhere romantic. (Not that Crowley went for that sort of thing but Aziraphale certainly did – if the amount of happy endings and dramatic romance novels in his bookstore were anything to go by.) His field of vision was populated with pictures of gardens and parks, all perfectly lovely places for a picnic but none of them, not a single one of them – lovingly perfect.

He swore and the pages lit up around him in flames. 

He was going to have to wing it.

…

Aziraphale closed up the shop early. He was dressed in his regular outfit – having not received a memo about dinner wear from Crowley. In fact, he hadn’t heard from the demon since Wednesday. He did hope they were still on for tonight.

He was getting a bit jittery about it as the time drew nearer. He fiddled with the bow on his gift and then the one on his neck while he waited. He picked up a book a couple times, meaning to distract himself but he couldn’t focus on the words.

The familiar beep of the Bentley alerted him and Aziraphale shot up like a starting pistol. He glanced at the clock. Crowley was early. 

Aziraphale gathered his gift, slung his coat over one arm and stepped out of the store, bumping nose first into his demon. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed, taking a step back. “Hello there Crowley.” He took a second to look over his date. Crowley had his red hair slicked back and had swapped out his regular jacket for a fashionable leather one. The rest of his outfit was the usual fair though it looked nicer than normal. The angel frowned.

“Oh I am under dressed, aren’t I?” Aziraphale tutted. “I’ll just go back inside and change -”

“Nonsense!” Crowley stepped expertly to loop their arms together. “Your outfit looks lovely.”

Aziraphale pouted, sensing he was being made fun of. “But these are just my regular clothes…” he argued. Crowley flashed him a grin. 

“My point still stands” he said as he led Aziraphale to the passenger door of his Bentley, holding it open for him like a proper gentleman. Aziraphale felt himself blush slightly and lowered into the familiar seat.

Crowley waited until he was settled to close the door and then ducked around to his side. He heard a loud curse as Crowley tripped over something, stumbling for a moment before regaining his cool. Aziraphale suppressed a grin and pretended he hadn’t seen anything as Crowley settled into the driver seat.

“These are for you,” the angel said after a moment, handing over the gift. A look of surprise crossed Crowley’s face quickly pursued by one of panic.

“You didn’t have to get me anything. And don’t go wasting a miracle on something either,” Aziraphale said, guessing at what was bothering his date. Crowley grinned sheepishly and unwrapped the bow revealing the tiny box of chocolates.

“A bit cliché I’m afraid but I thought flowers might wilt before you could get them in water,” Aziraphale explained. The grin on Crowley’s face shrunk to a small, almost shy, smile. Aziraphale felt his heart do a back flip. 

“Thank you, angel,” he said warmly and Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile in return. The demon tucked his gift carefully into the back seat beside a picnic basket. 

“So, where are you taking me on our date?” Aziraphale asked. Both sets of cheeks in the car flushed slightly at the word. 

“Uh…well I was sorta thinking we could just…you know, drive around and see what strikes our fancy?” Crowley suggested, eyes shifting around under his sunglasses.

Aziraphale gave him a quizzical glance. This wasn’t really what he’d been expecting…but perhaps Crowley acted a little differently on dates. “Alright” he said, reaching to put on his seatbelt. 

Crowley didn’t bother with his, instead he started up the car and hit the gas, rapidly followed by the break as they jerked backwards. “Heh. Had it in reverse,” he said, cheeks growing a little darker before readjusting and smoothly guiding them into traffic.

That was when Aziraphale noticed Crowley was acting really strange. He was fidgeting, picking at his nails, smoothing out his jeans, adjusting his glasses. Aziraphale had never known Crowley to be one to fidget. And he was going the speed limit! Lord almighty, was he ill? Perhaps they should call off their date.

Aziraphale was about to say something when Crowley preemptively interrupted him. “Let’s listen to some music, shall we?” He pressed a button on the console and a soothing flute came over the speakers, intertwined with the sound of songbirds. A woman’s voice began to speak. “Welcome to meditations for anxiety.” Crowley hastily fumbled with the controls, ejecting the CD and throwing it straight out the window.

“Can’t imagine how that got in here,” he muttered, cheeks now quite crimson. Aziraphale stared at him, realizing exactly what kind of ailment his old friend was suffering from. It was a bad case of the nerves.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began in a soft voice. “Calm down, it’s just me here.” 

Crowley’s eyes left the road to stare at him, eyebrows shooting up above his glasses. “Aziraphale…you might be an angel with all of your heavenly judgement and holy equity but you are anything but ‘just’.”

His eyes flicked back to the road and it was Aziraphale’s turn to flush crimson at the bad but extremely flattering pun. Silver tongued devil indeed. Aziraphale glanced at Crowley out of the corner of his eye – still fidgeting and restless as anything. Crowley was rarely this frazzled – it was kind of entertaining.

“So…” Aziraphale patted a rhythm out on his knees while he spoke, making note of where they were. “Your plan was to just…drive around and see if we passed by anything you wanted to do?” 

“Um…yeah” Crowley answered hesitantly.

“Is there a reason then, that we’re still in the red light district?”

Crowley slammed on the breaks, looking around as if he just noticed the area they’d been driving in. He groaned and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. Aziraphale tried not to chuckle.

There was a knock on the window on Crowley’s side and they both turned to see a young woman with neon pink lipstick leaning on the door to the Bentley. Obviously she had taken the sudden breaking of Crowley’s car as some kind of signal. Aziraphale could barely hold in his snort as Crowley put his glasses back on and rolled down the window.

“You boys looking for some company?” she asked, getting straight to the point. 

“Er…no…thank you miss,” Crowley answered. The woman scowled, clearly offended. Crowley flashed her a smile, some kind of idea occurring to him. “But I will give you all the money I have in my wallet if you tell me the most romantic date spot you can think of in London.” Aziraphale looked at the demon in surprise and a little bit of annoyance. This date had been the only thing on Aziraphale’s mind for the past few days but the demon hadn’t even bothered to think of a venue?

The woman seemed mildly intrigued. “Hmm..romantic eh? I had a boyfriend take me to that whisper thing at St. Paul’s cathedral once.”

Crowley frowned. “Second most romantic date.”

“Picnic at Primrose Hill?” she suggested. Crowley tossed his head as if considering it.

“Third most romantic?” he pressed. The woman paused, thinking.

“It’s a bit hoaky but I’ve always wanted to do the Cupid Pod at the London Eye,” she said. A grin slid onto Crowley’s face and he reached into his pocket for his wallet. The woman’s eyes went wide as she saw the wad of cash he was slipping her. She snatched it into her purse immediately, eyeing around to make sure no one saw.

“Thank you,” Crowley told her before speeding away.

“So we’re going on the London Eye for our date?” Aziraphale asked, still amused by the exchange. 

“No that was idea number thirty six to be crossed off the list.” Crowley said. Aziraphale stared at him in surprise. 

“Picnic at Primrose Hill?” he inquired. 

“Idea number seventy one.”

“St. Paul’s Cathedral?” 

“Eight hundred and six” Crowley replied with a frown. 

“Eight hundred and six!” Aziraphale stared at Crowley looking for any evidence of a lie. Crowley glanced over at him, and gave him a shrug. Well, now he felt bad for laughing at the demon. Clearly he’d given this date a lot more thought than he’d let on. And he was quite desperate for the best idea if he had been willing to set foot in St. Paul’s. (Even if it had been idea eight hundred and six.)

“But wait…if we’re not going on the Eye, then where are we going?” Aziraphale questioned. Crowley grinned at him, making his heart do another gymnastic tumble.

“Somewhere with a better view,” he said.

…

“The Shard?” Aziraphale asked, slightly confused, looking up at the tallest building in London.

Crowley nodded, taking the picnic basket out of the back seat. He was feeling a bit smug now about this idea. They’d had a rocky start and sure…it still wasn’t perfect but anything was better than stumbling around like a lovesick idiot. He took a second to send a miracle to the way of that prostitute as a thank you for the idea. Later on that evening she would run into a wealthy gentleman with a thing for pink lipstick and treating women with respect. He’d be struck with the idea to invite her on a date on the London Eye. Six years later she’d be living in a nice big house with a picket fence and two blonde haired children whose adoration of her would be dwarfed only by their father’s.

“Ready Angel?” Crowley practically purred, wrapping his free arm around Aziraphale’s waist. The angel squeaked in response and Crowley snapped his fingers.

Suddenly they found themselves on the very top of the Shard – and not in the viewing deck or in the penthouse suite either, on the actual top of the building. 

The view was stunning. The sun was just finishing up its set on the horizon and the whole city of London was lit up like lighters at a concert. Crowley’s smugness dial turned itself way up as he caught Aziraphale staring in awe at the skyline. 

Crowley got to work setting out the red gingham blanket and settling down, legs outstretched, waiting patiently. His angel eventually turned away from the sunset towards him and Crowley patted the blanket beside him. 

Aziraphale stepped quietly over and sat next to Crowley – a little farther away than Crowley would have liked but no matter. He began to set out the food from the basket, finishing with two flutes and a bottle of very fine champagne. Crowley poured them each a glass and handed one to Aziraphale, letting his fingers brush against the angel’s as he did so.

“So, what do you think?” Crowley asked, lying back a bit on the blanket.

“Oh Crowley, it’s wonderful,” he said, surveying the spread. Crowley beamed.

“Just wish I had come up with it earlier.” Crowley took a sip of his champagne. “Though I supposed I would have crossed it off the list as well.”

“For whatever reason?” Aziraphale asked, bringing his own flute to his lips.

“Not perfect enough for you,” Crowley answered. That brought out the rose in Aziraphale’s cheeks. They sat in silence for a moment, listening to their own heart beats race in their ears.

“Did you really not know?” Crowley asked after a few minutes. He was worried he might be ruining the mood but he was far too curious to leave it.

Aziraphale sighed. “I suppose I did, really. You were always quite liberal with your miracles when it came to me. Though I had assumed your charm was effortless.” Crowley blinked. Had the angel just called him charming? “And you did ask me run away with you when everything was turning sideways. Plus you were quite distraught when you found out I had been discorporated,” Aziraphale continued. “But I couldn’t think on it Crowley! They’d have had my wings for it! And who knows what would have happened to you if your lot found out!”

“I probably would have been promoted,” Crowley mused. Aziraphale gave him a quizzical look. “Tempting an angel and all that,” Crowley explained. The angel huffed.

“Yes well Gabriel would have had my head,” he grumbled. 

“Never liked that guy. Treated you with less than half the respect you deserve.” Crowley took another sip of champagne. 

“Well I suppose it doesn’t matter now,” Aziraphale said with another sigh. “I’ve all but been cast out of heaven. Though I would like to see the look on Gabriel’s face when he found out about us.” The angel laughed and Crowley chuckled along – feeling quite bubbly the more Aziraphale spoke. Seemed like his assumptions about the angel’s feelings had been correct. A slight frown crossed Aziraphale’s face and Crowley sat up a little in concern.

“Do you miss it? Heaven I mean,” he asked, trying to suss out what was making the angel upset.

“Oh no. It’s quite boring up there if I’m being honest. Doesn’t have any of the things I’m fond of. No champagne, no Shakespeare, no sushi restaurants…no you.” His cheeks lit up on the last bit and Crowley felt his own cheeks begin to glow in response. 

“Does that mean you’ve decided on an answer to my…courting?” Crowley cocked an eyebrow but let it fall when he saw Aziraphale’s lips purse.

“I’m…afraid, Crowley,” he answered quietly. “What if you change your mind? Then I’ll have lost my best friend.” Now both Crowley’s eyebrows rose up in surprise. When Aziraphale said he was afraid, he’d thought he meant of their respective sides’ retaliation – not of losing Crowley.

He smirked. “Angel, its been nearly six thousand years! If my mind was going to change I’d have thought it would have done so already.” Aziraphale’s frown gave way to a smile and Crowley’s heart lept. 

“Well I suppose that’s true.” He finally reached for one of the treats Crowley had laid out, a chocolate covered strawberry and took a bit – eyes going wide at the taste. “This is delicious!” he exclaimed through a mouthful. He went to grab another one but Crowley got there first, holding up the fruit expectantly with another smirk.

Aziraphale hesitated but a look came across his face that Crowley, despite his better judgement, could only describe as ‘devilish’. “Crowley,” he admonished. “I knew you were trying to court me but are you also trying to _seduce_ me?”

Crowley had some snark to respond with but Aziraphale leaned forward and took the strawberry in his mouth, tongue flicking over Crowley’s fingers as he did, and Crowley felt every thought shoot out of his ears in a puff of steam. His hand hung in the air lamely as Aziraphale swallowed, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Angel,” Crowley said, clearing his throat of the sudden roughness. “I’m going to kiss you.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide but he didn’t move away or miracle himself elsewhere as Crowley gently grabbed his chin and pressed their lips together.

Love is one of the most powerful forces in the universe. It contains, in the teensiest speck of it, an infinite capacity to create and nurture and grow but also an infinite capacity to kill and destroy and deprive. It is second only to the power of imagination and a hypergiant going supernova. 

The forces of Good and the forces of Evil know this quite well and while occasionally both sides have tried to muck about with it – it is generally understood that trying to use love in any capacity for Good or for Evil is like trying to hammer in a nail with an eight million tonne weight. So, often creatures like angels and demons will steer clear of it for direct purposes. General purposes are fine. Angels enjoy keeping the eight million tonne weight below their feet, a basis for doing good deeds – if you treat others with love you will in turn receive love, for example. Demon’s prefer to keep the eight million tonne weight looming overhead, a constant threat – if you don’t do the bad deed, you’ll never be loved, for example.

The point being that the incredible power Crowley and Aziraphale were dealing with, combined with their angelic and demonic abilities to influence fate, created something akin to an atom bomb going off in London just after sunset.

Every bar fight within a thousand miles ceased and was replaced with drunken hugs and tears. Football fans stopped punching each other and lighting things on fire and instead sat down in great rings of people on the pitch, singing Kumbaya and braiding each other’s hair. Lovers who had been on the verge of ending things for weeks fell into bed together, getting a sudden new lease on their relationship. Cats and dogs groomed each other happily. Flowers bloomed in every tree, whether they were in the season to do so or not. A goose in St. James Park let a child walk by without attacking him.

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale noticed the commotion, too busy with the feel of each other's mouth on their own. It was quite a chaste kiss actually as far as those went. Lips were only slightly parted, just barely moving against each other. But both would have been contented to let it go on for hours, days even. 

Aziraphale moved back first, probably out of a sense of angelic modesty. Crowley had to hold himself back from chasing after that mouth and sat back too, opening his eyes (when had he closed them?) to see his angel’s face lit up like a Christmas light.

He pressed his fingers over his mouth in thought, moved them to say something and opened his mouth only to close it again. 

That smugness was back in full force and Crowley smirked. “Speechless?” he teased, trying very hard to conceal the amount of effort it took for he himself to speak.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Keep up that attitude and that will be the last one of those” he said – wiping the grin straight off Crowley’s face. But his eyes were full of mirth.

He shifted slightly, getting a little closer to Crowley to sample the cheese and crackers. Crowley moved closer in kind until they were near touching. A soft noise of delight made its way out from between Aziraphale’s lips at the taste of the cheese and Crowley suddenly found himself unable to breathe as his mind was flooded with a bunch of ideas on just exactly how he could elicit that noise from his angel again.

He shook his head and forced himself to breathe. He needed to keep it together. “You never did answer my question” Crowley pointed out, demanding his brain make words as a distraction. “How are you feeling about this?” His hand gestured between the two of them. 

Aziraphale frowned and let out a sigh. Crowley instantly felt the urge to through himself off the side of the building at the expression. 

“I’m not sure to be quite honest.” Okay so a double helping of ‘throw yourself off the building Crowley’ today. “I’m still frightened…and it feels like at some point the other preverbial shoe is going to drop. But on the other hand –“ and Satan damn him he actually holds up his other hand, “my heart is absolutely galloping and I can’t stop thinking about your lips.”

Crowley grinned so wide that he barely had time to pull his lips back in before Aziraphale had gripped him by the collar and pulled him into another kiss.

…

As far as dates went it was, objectively, boring. They didn’t do much but eat and stare at each other (and occasionally kiss). The power of the love rolling off of them continued its onslaught on poor unsuspecting London all evening.

Those standing in the observation deck at the Shard reported feeling a overwhelming sense of peace and love that evening. A strange phenomena for tourists, who normally were more interested in desecrating ancient ruins or littering or yelling at the local shop attendees like they were stupid. On the way home Crowley noted silently that a lot of people were holding hands – like it was some kind of couples convention. 

Crowley parked the Bentley outside of Aziraphale’s book store and got out to walk him to the door. They paused for a moment there, Crowley leaning against it with another smug grin on his face.

“Going to invite me up for ‘coffee’ angel?” The cock of his eyebrow was very suggestive of the quotation marks around “coffee.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Aziraphale answered with just a little bit of teasing. “If I let you in now, I might never let you leave.”

Crowley wasn’t entirely sure what his angel meant by that but the way he said it put his stomach on a low simmer. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, snapping him out of the start of some impure thoughts. “Thank you for inviting me. This evening was perfect.”

“I think technically you invited me,” Crowley pointed out. “The date was your suggestion after all.”

Aziraphle smiled but it shrunk into a worried frown. “I’m sorry if I’ve been…indecisive about all this. I guess I’ve got no experience with any of this.”

“You mean to tell me you’re not heaven’s own Casanova in a tartan bowtie?” He said it like he was joking but Crowley never did understand why more people weren’t throwing themselves at Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale huffed. “Well we can’t all be Don Juan amongst the humans,” he grumbled. Crowley raised his eyebrows and snorted.

“Me? You forget that I was under the impression that we had an, albeit slow-moving, thing. It wouldn’t have been very polite of me to take on other suitors,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale clearly fought with his expression, trying to keep the utter delight off his face. Crowley didn’t miss it though, and he filed away that little tidbit for later.

“Well I suppose I should be getting inside” Aziraphale said, even though he made no move to turn towards the door. “Thank you again Crowley.”

“Angel.” Crowley took a step forward and kissed him. This one was a little more forceful than the last few. Crowley pinned Aziraphale against the door and let his tongue dip into Aziraphale’s mouth – just the teensiest amount. When he broke away, Aziraphale’s eyes were still closed and his lips still parted and Crowley almost kissed him again. Instead he turned and headed back to his car.

“Goodnight angel!” he called over his shoulder as he ducked into the car. 

“G-goodnight!” Aziraphale called after him, a hand over his breast. 

He stood there for a few moments before entering the shop, staring after Crowley as he sped away like his eyes were magnetized towards the demon.

If they hadn’t been, Aziraphale might have noticed the figure across the street, staring at the bookshop.

A scowl had been deepening under the figure’s black eyes ever since the Bentley had pulled up. Now an evil grin swooped in to replace it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to make a point of highlighting the fact that I am NOT BRITISH ENOUGH to be writing this fic.
> 
> Everything in this chapter is a google search and its so painfully obvious. Ugh you can just see my thought process.  
> "Best date ideas in London UK"  
> "Tallest building in London UK"  
> "Parks in London UK"
> 
> It also occurs to me that Soho is the red light district in London? (Maybe it still works). Also do the locals refer to these places this way? Do Aziraphale and Crowley count as locals? Ugh I don't know. Look I'm going to try to stick to vague settings and fictional places from now on so forgive me this one chapter, ok?


	3. Steady as We Go

Gabriel groaned as another report poofed into existence on his desk. 

“Let me guess, another bus full of humans rallies together to save another baby trapped inside a burning building” he said, voice full of mockery.  
Sandalphon stalked over to scan the file. “A dog,” he said.

“What?” Gabriel retorted.

“It was a dog, not a baby and it was trapped in a sewer.” 

“Do I look like I care Sandalphon?” Gabriel snapped. 

“Isn’t it a good thing though, Gabriel? That so many people have suddenly turned towards the light?” Sandalphon asked. Another file popped onto Gabriel’s desk and Sandalphon reached for it. “Oh someone just donated their inheritance to cancer research.” He whistled when he saw the sum.

“It’s all good in theory. Except if you look at where its all happening…” Gabriel opened up a few more files and threw them at Sandalphon. 

“London England?”

“Doesn’t this seem just like the work of a certain bumbling idiot?” Gabriel asked.

Sandalphon thought about it silently.

“He’s just throwing around miracles like candy now!” Gabriel continued. “Plus, look at this!” He shoved another file at Sandalphon who scans the contents. “Every tree – every single one – suddenly in bloom! Who does he think he is?”

“Isn’t that…” Sandalphon swallowed. “I mean, wouldn’t that take a lot of power?” 

There was an unspoken but highly suggested silence that spread between the two angels as they simultaneously remembered Aziraphale walking through hell fire unscathed. His power was clearly greater than they had ever expected and beyond their comprehension. Which made absolutely no sense for a principality and both of them would rather not think on it longer than they had to. They both shuddered.

“Excuse me! What do you think your doing here!?” Michael’s shout could be heard throughout the heavenly domain.

A grotesque pale figure with jet black eyes entered Gabriel’s office. The sulfuric stench rolling off the man’s body itself was enough to prove he didn’t belong in the angel’s crisp, clean office. He was followed quite quickly by Michael.

“You can’t just waltz in here!” She scolded. 

“I have information concerning our mutual…problems,” Hastur (that’s right, Hastur was his name) said. A beat of silence fell on the angels.

“Close the door,” Gabriel ordered and Michael obliged. All three angels stared at the demon, waiting.

“Well?” Gabriel finally prompted in annoyance.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on Crowley,” he spat the name like it had a bad taste. “Yesterday I watched him dropping off your man at his book shop and they were…” A disgusted look came across his face and Gabriel was suddenly concerned he would vomit. But Hastur sighed instead. “It might be better if I show you.”

And suddenly all three angels felt the information being uploaded into their consciousness. A very crisp image appeared in their minds’ eyes of Aziraphale pressed up against the door of his book shop while Crowley kissed him.

Michael and Sandalphon gasped in horror but Gabriel…Gabriel grinned, violet eyes flashing. This was exactly the kind of slip up they’d been waiting for. The good Lord Herself wouldn’t approve of angels going after each other for no justifiable reason. Aziraphale had technically already been punished for the mess he made of Armaggedon and She wouldn’t stand for more.

Sinning like this though? That was worthy of a lot of divine punishment.

“I have just the thing for this,” Gabriel said with a grin. He moved behind his desk and knelt to roll the corner of a rug up to reveal a safe. Gabriel carefully entered the combination and removed a large vial. He held it up in the light. It resembled holy water in presence but it was dark red in colour.

“What is it?” Hastur asked, hand reaching. Gabriel held it out of his reach and smirked at the demon’s stupidity.

“A fall – a greater fall than the one you’ve experienced, demon. Splash a little of this on our problem, and they will truly know the depths of hopelessness,” he answered. Then he sighed. “Took a lot of searching and some less than savory deals to secure this.” His violet eyes glittered maliciously as his voice dropped.

“Pity there’s only enough for one.”

…

Aziraphale had come to the conclusion that dating Crowley was quite the good thing after all. 

It was a full two days later and his whole corporeal body still felt light. Every dark and dinghy spot in his shop was filled with light and polished clean. The birds outside were singing a tune that sounded oddly like Puccini’s “O mio babbino caro” – in fact it sounded exactly like Puccini’s “O mio babbino caro” and Aziraphale had just walked to the crack in the window to investigate when a knock at the door interrupted him.

“We’re closed!” he called. The knock occurred again and he huffed as he turned to approach the door. “You can come back when we open in two –“ he was cut off abruptly by a small gasp of surprise as he opened the door to see Gabriel and Sandalphon standing in his doorway.

Aziraphale had to press down the urge to turn tail and bolt. Instead he tried to channel a bit of Crowley’s boldness and intimidation – Crowley had been in his body last time the angels had seen him, after all. 

“Gabriel. Sandalphon. This is a surprise. Would you like to come in for a spot of tea?” Ah, he’d never been good at imitations anyways.

“No. Thank you.” Gabriel said, shoving past Aziraphale anyways. Sandalphon followed, giving Aziraphale a smug look as he did so.

“We aren’t here for any of your disgusting earthly pleasantries. We’re here on business,” Gabriel said. Aziraphale shifted nervously but found himself more than a little annoyed at the archangel’s tone. It hadn’t changed a bit in a year.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you much there. You may not recall, but the last time we met I was quite spectacularly fired.” Aziraphale congratulated himself on the pun, giving the archangels a warm smile.

Gabriel returned the smile but there was hatred in his violet eyes. “Oh we wouldn’t come to you for _help,_ ” he retorted, turning while he spoke to run his hands across Aziraphale’s books. “No its just that there have been a number of miracles happening in the area as of late.”

“Trees blooming out of season, humans acting unusually kind to one another. Our agents have reported a general feeling of love in the area,” Sandalphon explained.

“Well it sounds like you lot are doing amazing work but I don’t see what it has to do with me,” Aziraphale said, bristling as Gabriel picked up one of his books.

“The thing is none of our angels are responsible for it. So we were just wondering if maybe…all the love was coming from _you?_ ” Gabriel dropped the book quite haphazardly on one of the tables and Aziraphale flinched.

_They know. They know. They know. They know. They know. They know. They know. They know –_

“Can’t say I know anything about it,” Aziraphale responded smoothly. He’d always been a good liar– though he was certain the archangels could hear his heart making a racket in his chest.

“Really?” Gabriel asked flatly but the smile returned shortly like a shark’s fin cresting over the water. “You don’t have to be ashamed Aziraphale. I mean, its happened before – ‘the sons of God looked upon the daughters of men and saw that they were fair’ and all that. Remind me, Sandalphon. What happened to those angels that copulated with the humans?”

“They fell,” Sandalphon helpfully supplied.

“Right. They fell. Would be such a shame if our Lord, in Her infinite wisdom and kindness, gave you a reprieve from the whole Armaggedon debacle and you just went and committed an unforgivable sin anyways.” Gabriel grinned. _He knows._

“Well no need to be concerned.” Aziraphale hid his panic behind a cheery tone. “I haven’t, nor do I plan to, copulate with any humans.” Aziraphale watched both archangels react with just the teensiest twitch of their mouths at the word ‘human’ and his heart was dropped into his stomach like the victim of a good throw at a circus dunk tank. 

“Good to hear.” Gabriel’s tone dripped with false amity. “Lust is not something any good angel should feel.”

Aziraphale knew he should just let them leave but his mouth opened before he’d even thought to keep it closed. “I thought you said there was ‘love’ in the area, not lust?”

Sandalphon and Gabriel exchanged an amused glance. “Well the flavor here certainly goes beyond the typical love and reverence angels are supposed to feel towards God’s creatures. It’s almost a perversion.” Sandalphon sneered.

Aziraphale felt his face pale but managed to keep the fake smile plastered on his lips. “Right, well I hope you’re able to bring whoever’s responsible to justice.”

“Oh, we will,” Gabriel said. They all smiled at one another and Aziraphale bid them good day as they walked out the store.

He took about five seconds to collect himself before bolting towards his telephone.

Aziraphale’s fingers slipped a few times on the numbers but he finally got through to Crowley. 

“Hello?” Crowley answered.

“THEY KNOW!” Aziraphale blurted out and then breathed out to calm himself. He backed up. “Gabriel and Sandalphon came calling just now. Talking about miracles happening everywhere, love felt on the street.”

“Hmm…that would explain why Hastur’s also been skulking about for the past few days,” Crowley commented. He seemed oddly calm. Aziraphale’s heart sunk even lower. He could deal with divine punishment himself but now Crowley was been dragged into this too. 

“I’m so sorry dear, I hadn’t realized. I should have kept a better lid on this. We should have been more subtle,” Aziraphale apologized. Crowley was silent for a few moments.

“Angel…” There was a pained tone to his voice as he spoke. “Do you…want to call the whole thing off?”

Aziraphale’s answer was immediate and offended. “NO!”

“Oh thank Satan,” Crowley muttered. Aziraphale felt a swell of giddiness in his chest at Crowley’s response. It probably would have been the smartest thing to do – turn their backs to one another – but Aziraphale could not imagine continuing on without the promise of Crowley’s lips on his again for the rest of eternity.

“So, what did Gabriel and Sandalphon say exactly?” It sounded like Crowley was settling down into a chair as he spoke.

“It was a warning really. A reminder of what happened to the last bunch of angels who succumbed to…lust,” Aziraphale explained. He felt himself blush as he recalled speaking about copulation, and with Crowley’s voice in his ear – he had to physically press a hand to his forehead to expel the thoughts as they surged up. 

“Threatened you with a fall.” Crowley’s voice hooked into a bit of a growl at the end. 

Aziraphale sighed. “So, what do we do?” he asked.

“I don’t think we have to do anything,” Crowley answered. 

“What!? Of course we have to do something! Both sides will be out for our skin!”

“Not Evil,” Crowley pointed out. “Tempting an angel would be right up there with inventing the guillotine or getting the Pope to commit murder. I wouldn’t be surprised if they showed up begging for me to come back to work.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Well that’s all good for you! I’m about to be chucked off the cliff and I have no interest in being a demon!”

“I don’t think that will happen,” Crowley soothed. “When we fell – God Herself was the one who kicked us. And She has had precious little to say about our relationship so far. I doubt She cares that much. As long as nothing gets in the way of Her Great Plan.”

“She might think this is all just tickity-boo now but I’m certain She wouldn’t feel that way if we were to ever…” Aziraphale hesitated to finish his sentence, cheeks heating up again.

“We were to ever what?” Crowley prompted. Aziraphale sighed.

“Consummate our relationship.” He could _hear_ Crowley’s eyebrows raise on the other end of the phone.

“Oh? Did you have some big plans for us Angel?” Crowley teased. Aziraphale rolled his eyes. 

“Well I suppose it won’t be an issue if we never have sex,” he said flatly, examining his nails.

“What!” Crowley exclaimed, voice jumping into a slightly shrill octave.

“Do you have objections?” Aziraphale asked, teasing back, just a little.

“Well…I mean…I’m not going to do anything your not comfortable with. I just think maybe we should talk this out a bit more. There’s no need to be so hasty…”

Aziraphale exhaled an exaggerated sigh as if he wasn’t just tickled by the idea that Crowley wanted to have sex with him. “We can revisit this discussion another time,” he conceded. 

“Okay…” Crowley sounded a little glum. Then he cleared his throat. “Anyways, I’m free this afternoon…haven’t got anything on…” Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile.

“Where are we going?”Aziraphale asked, daring to be a little presumptuous.

“Your choice. I chose our last date,” Crowley answered, smile evident in his voice.

“Well a picnic atop the Shard will be quite hard to top. Unless perhaps you’ve change your mind about learning the gavotte?”

“No,” Crowley’s replied immediately. Aziraphale pouted, even though his demon couldn’t see it.

“Alright, alright. Well there is a little restaurant I’ve been meaning to revisit for a while now. It’s not that far from here. We could walk,” Aziraphale suggested.

“Sounds perfect,”Crowley purred into the phone. “Meet you at your shop at two?” 

“Yes.” Aziraphale agreed, already feeling the excitement settle in.

“Good. See you then Angel.”

Aziraphale stared at the phone for a moment. The birds outside had switched their singing to “Salut D’amour” and Aziraphale scrambled to reign in his power. Best to stick to the fake magic while he felt like this. No sense in giving the archangels any more to be suspicious about.

…

In Crowley’s reluctant opinion, the second date had been an improvement on the first. Crowley had assumed whatever restaurant they were going to would be more of Aziraphale’s regular fair, with items like chocolate poached pears and goose liver pates on the menu and wine lists a mile long. Instead they ended up in a small dive that served American style burgers and big frothing milkshakes. Crowley ordered something called a Kamikaze burger that came with a sauce that claimed to be ‘hotter than hell’ and a vanilla milkshake. Aziraphale ordered a strawberry milkshake and a burger that came with peanut butter and jelly. He forced Crowley to try a bite when he’d made a face at it.

“Just one bite, here –“ Aziraphale used his fork and knife (despite the fact that burgers like this were supposed to be eaten with one’s hands) and cut a piece off for Crowley, holding it up in front of him. Crowley had intended to continue to refuse but getting spoon fed by Aziraphale was just too much for him to pass up.

He wrapped his mouth around the fork and slowly pulled off the morsel, keeping his eyes afixed on Aziraphale and hoping the way his lips wrapped around the utensil inspired other ideas for his lips in Aziraphale’s mind. But it seemed a useless endeavour as the Angel only looked at him with the excitement of someone waiting to hear what he thought.

“S’not bad,” Crowley said to Aziraphale’s delight. He tried to get the angel to do the same with his burger but Aziraphale refused – wishing not to ‘disrupt his palate’ with too much spice. 

The food was admittedly great but Crowley thought Aziraphale’s date was going to lose to his for sure when the server announced a trivia night. He had a loud groan on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed it back when Aziraphale’s eyes had lighted up as they announced the topic for the night was history and Crowley, ever the gentleman, suggested they play.

They beat the other teams no contest. The server discounted their drinks a little extra for running the jerk regulars into the ground.

Crowley stopped by their table to taunt on the way out. “Really need to brush up on those history books, Chad. I mean, really? Who thinks Henry Ford invented the gas powered automobile? Do you get all your facts from “Popular Mechanics for Kids”?”

Aziraphale had to usher him out before Chad and his gang of nerds tried to start a brawl. But he did let Crowley trash talk them the entire way home. 

There were an unusual number of buskers out on their walk - romantic songs seeming to be the trend. Aziraphale insisted on stopping at each one to listen and Crowley made a point of throwing a few pence into their hats. A man near the end of their stroll had the misfortune to break a string on his guitar while he was playing. 

"Afraid that will have to be all for today," he told Aziraphale's excited face glumly. Aziraphale gave Crowley that look - you know the one, where he looks at Crowley like he doesn't have to do anything but it would mean the _world_ to Aziraphale if he performed a miracle. Crowley cocked an eyebrow but set to work while Aziraphale distracted the musician.

"You're very good! Do you play anywhere professionally?" Aziraphale asked him.

"Oh, well just a few pubs. Can't really afford to record anything as of yet," he told him, scratching at his beard. Crowley walked around, nodding at the string to weave itself back together before returning to Aziraphale's side.

"Are you quite sure you can't play anything more? That was delightful!"

"No, no - string's broken, see?" He held up the newly miracled guitar. "What the- I could've sworn..."

"Must be our lucky day," Crowley grinned. The man was bewildered but ecstatic enough to play them a smoky love song that had Aziraphale leaning into Crowley to listen. A couple of kids a few blocks away who were laying on the grass, counting clouds noted that every single cloud in the early pink of the evening was in the shape of a heart. Crowley threw a wad of cash into the musician's case as thanks - seeing as he now had an arm around Aziraphale's shoulders and his body was absolutely humming with the closeness.

At the end of their date, Crowley once again tried to invite himself in for “coffee” but Aziraphale was resolute and sent him home with only a passionate good night kiss.

Crowley couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he sauntered across the street, straight up to the figure that had been watching them all evening. It still didn’t falter even as he said: “Good evening Hastur, enjoying the show?”

“Oh quite,” Hastur replied with a sneer. “Didn’t get lucky tonight?” 

“Oh so Hell’s just resorted to employing regular old perverts now, is that it?” Crowley retorted. 

“I wonder…how many people do you think he’s taken to bed?”Hastur mused. Okay that gave Crowley's grin a quiver. “I imagine after six thousand years you’d get curious. And we both know how good he is at hiding things from heaven. He’s probably had one or two…or do you think maybe he’s really good at it? I’d bet he’s had dozens, maybe hundreds-“ His voice was cut off by Crowley grabbing him by the throat. Grin nowhere to be found.

Hastur laughed. “Touched a nerve, did I?”

Crowley gritted his teeth, mentally beating himself for taking the bait. Slowly, and with great effort of will, he released Hastur’s jugular. 

“What do you want, Hastur?” Crowley all but snarled.

“Nothing. Just can’t wait to see your face when your angel gets what’s coming to him,’ Hastur said. “Rumour has it that there’s a very hefty punishment for angels who succumb to lust.”

“Supposedly there’s a hefty punishment for those who prevent Armaggedon too. But look how that turned out,” Crowley sassed. Hastur’s own smile fell. “Well, always a pleasure, Hastur.” Crowley turned his back on the demon to saunter down the street.

“You’ll get what’s coming to you Crowley!” Hastur yelled after him. “Mark my words!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Steady as We Go" is a Dave Matthews Band song - and perhaps what the busker is playing in this chapter.
> 
> Thanks for reading so far!


	4. Out of the Frying Pan

Crowley did, in fact, mark Hastur’s words. Just not with a very dark pen – and he didn’t reread any of his notes. He was a poor study. He was just far too busy trying to figure out the best way to seduce an angel. 

Not right this second of course. Right this second he was sitting on the couch in Aziraphale’s bookshop, watching him read. He liked the way Aziraphale’s brow seemed to crease a little or how the corner of his lips might turn up while he focused on the page. Crowley watched him reach for his cocoa. It should have gone cold about six times now but Crowley had sent a little miracle over to reheat it every time – just as he did now. 

Aziraphale smiled contentedly as he sipped the steaming liquid and then set it back down without looking up from his page.

Crowley didn’t really have any complaints about the way their relationship was progressing. It was more progress than he’d made in hundreds of years. They held hands now – even though it sent waves of electricity through Crowley’s skin for days. And occasionally Aziraphale would allow Crowley to push him up against something and feel the inside of his mouth with his tongue. (Which sent waves of electricity through Crowley’s entire body for days.) 

He just wished…there might’ve been more by now.

Crowley had been on a very strict “no thinking about the Angel in that context” regime for the thousands of years since he’d first had a stray thought in that direction. Aziraphale was his dearest friend, first and foremost, and he wasn’t going to sully that friendship with lust of all things. Of course there had been a few slip ups – mostly while he was drunk and alone in a dark room – but for the most part he’d been able to keep things kosher. 

But now they were dating. Didn’t that mean Crowley was free to think about these sorts of things? Wouldn’t that be expected? Did Aziraphale expect him to think them? What would his thoughts about that be? And did Aziraphale think these sorts of things about Crowley? Crowley covered his sudden inhale with a quiet cough. Luckily, Aziraphale was too absorbed in his reading to be interrupted.

Crowley hadn’t brought up the topic of sex again – he was being cautious. Aziraphale had seemed to react so adversely to it over the phone…he just didn’t want to push things to such a place of discomfort that Aziraphale was willing to call the whole thing off. 

Not that Aziraphale’s opinion on sex would really change anything. Crowley was so head over heels in love with the angel that he could confess he had a very specific sexual kink where his partner had to be struck by lightning and Crowley would be immediately glued to the top of a building, doing strip tease routines with the nearest lightning rod. He could have told Crowley that the angels who created his body had royally fucked up and given him nothing but a miserable squid between his legs and Crowley would have spent his evenings singing it lullabies and lovingly giving it sponge baths.

It’s just, you know, if someone were to ask Crowley what he wanted – well then he’d probably put forth some very strong opinions in favor of licking every inch of Aziraphale’s body like it was its own delicacy. 

“Dear,” Aziraphale said suddenly, eyes only flicking up for a second from his book. “It’s very difficult to read with you staring at me like that.”

“Did you only just notice?” Crowley asked.

“No.” Aziraphale pursed his lips in a way that meant yes, he had only just noticed. Crowley grinned and Aziraphale sighed, putting his book down. “Should we think about some dinner?” he asked hopefully.

“Craving anything in particular?” Crowley questioned. 

“There’s that place with the big windows that has a delicious poached pear and prosciutto salad…ah but I’m so comfortable it would almost be a shame to get up.” Aziraphale drummed his fingers on the cover of his book at the dilemma.

“We could just order in from there,” Crowley suggested. 

“They don’t do takeout,” Aziraphale said sadly.

“Everywhere does takeout if you know the chef,” Crowley said, pulling out his cellphone. Aziraphale gasped in delight.

“Really? Oh then get me the wild caught mahi mahi as well – its delectable.”

Crowley obliged. He had ulterior motives for ordering in anyways. Every date they’d had had ended at the door, with Crowley dropping Aziraphale off and Aziraphale refusing to invite him in for “coffee”. If the date was here…well then he’d already be invited in for coffee, wouldn’t he?

A thought occurred to Crowley after he’d ordered. “Do you have a living space upstairs, Aziraphale?”

“Not really. It’s just storage – though I hardly use it,” Aziraphale answered to Crowley’s dismay.

“What do you tell people when they ask where you sleep? ‘Oh just under the stacks in the back’?” Crowley asked.

“You know I can’t say the question’s ever come up in conversation,” Aziraphale replied with a shrug.

Well this certainly put a bit of a damper on Crowley’s plans. He supposed they didn’t actually need a bedroom and could just – oh that was a dangerous direction for his thoughts to be headed. 

“Next time we should go to my place,” Crowley mumbled quietly – it was meant to be to himself but Aziraphale gave him a meaningful look. 

“Now Crowley, you know I don’t mean to be rude but your flat…it’s inhospitable! It’s always cold, there isn’t a single spot to sit that doesn’t make my ass hurt, and your plants are oddly…trembley for houseplants.”

“Well, jeez, don’t hold back Angel,” Crowley huffed.

“I didn’t mean it like –“ Aziraphale cut himself off with a sigh. “Listen, if it is that important to you then yes, next time we can go to your place. But if it is all the same to you, I’d much rather have you here.”

Crowley’s retort was cut off by a knock at the door – the food. He tipped the man well enough that his scowl at having been sent on a delivery was wiped clean off. Crowley returned with the food, handing most of it over to a delighted Aziraphale.

He watched Aziraphale while he made little contented sounds and savored his bites. There had to be some way he could get Aziraphale back to his flat – willingly. Crowley could get a few blankets – maybe swipe a couple of Aziraphale’s cushions, and he supposed he could lay off the plants (or perhaps yell at them more for being so perceptible). But would that really be enough to get Aziraphale in the mood? There had to be something else.

“I’m surprised you knew one of the chefs,” Aziraphale said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. Crowley had to suppress the blood as it ran to his cheeks. He made it a point of meeting at least one kitchen crew from anywhere Aziraphale frequented more than four times a month. Having insider information helped prevent another “Golden Trumpet” fiasco. 

(The Golden Trumpet was a restaurant that Aziraphale had frequented almost three times a week before the place was shut down. The owner, Frank Dabio, was a deadbeat with massive gambling debts, a drinking problem that could drown a fish, and a bad habit of abusing his staff. But he was very good at hiding all that – at least for the few hours a week Aziraphale popped in. Somehow, he’d sniffed out Aziraphale as someone with money and managed to keep up the ruse that he was just down on his luck for THREE YEARS before Aziraphale got wise. When Crowley had found out how much money Aziraphale had thrown at the man – he’d been furious! Not that the money mattered much – it was the fact that he’d treated an angel (a literal angel) like Aziraphale as an easy con. Eventually _someone_ tipped off the loan sharks to Frank’s whereabouts and he’d opted to turn himself into the police for money laundering rather than lose his kneecaps. Aziraphale only got over the whole thing after locking himself in his bookstore and consuming half his wine cellar for three months.)

“Oh you know,” Crowley started when he realized he hadn’t responded. “You live on earth – you run into…award winning chefs.” If only he could kidnap one of those award winning chefs for his flat. Aziraphale would never leave.

An idea flourished inside Crowley’s head, so simple he had to put his fork down. 

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked in concern – probably at the odd expression on Crowley’s face.

“Hm? Oh yeah. Yeah.” Crowley waved him off, already weaving together his plan.

Crowley was going to learn how to cook.

…

“Hello, is this Anthony J. Crowley?” a gruff voice asked over the phone. 

“Yes,” Crowley answered.

“This is the Mayfair Fire Marshall. We’ve received a couple of concerned calls about black smoke coming from your windows – are you at home right now?”

Crowley looked around at the hazy state of his flat while he held the smoking remains of a beef wellington out the window. The fire alarm, by some miracle, wasn’t screeching anymore and the flames that had been decorating the inside of his oven as of late had been doused. He didn’t really see what warranted the call. Surely it wasn’t that much smoke.

“Oh, yes. My apologies. Toaster malfunction. It’s all fine now though.” Crowley opted to be polite.

“That’s good to hear, sir. Please ensure you are taking the proper precautions when cooking and not leaving anything unattended.” The man on the phone sounded a little bored.

“Of course – thank you.” Crowley didn’t wait for the goodbye to hang up. He sighed and dropped the smoldering pan out the window into the rubbish collection in the alley below. 

So perhaps beef wellington wasn’t his forte. That was alright – there were plenty of other recipes to try.

Unfortunately the only thing Crowley seemed to have a talent for – was lighting things on fire. In the next thirty hours he succeeded to burn veal chops with truffle marinade, sauteed sea scallops with caramelized apples, an entire fudge chocolate cheesecake, and somehow also a tomato caprese salad.

He was just tossing out an entire pan of the unrecognizable remains of roasted potatoes and a rack of lamb (having walked down to get out from the smoke choked flat) when his downstairs neighbour stepped out for a smoke. Crowley didn’t notice her at first and was swearing a blue streak at his ruined cookware – hoping that maybe it would do the same thing for his culinary skills as it did for his plants, when he turned and saw her.

“Ah,” was all he could think to say as she studied him – a very amused look on her face.

“You’ve got to start simple,” she finally told him, once she’d stopped laughing at him (not out loud of course, but Crowley could tell). “Scrambled eggs – work your way up from there.”

So Crowley had taken her advice and after a ton of youtube videos and a few more burnt plates of inedible mess he’d been able to get scrambled eggs that tasted pretty good if he did say so himself. Only took him a day and a half too. Of course once he had the serviceable eggs he wasn’t really sure what to do from there.

Sheepishly he climbed the steps downstairs to his neighbours flat and knocked on the door. She looked only half surprised to see him.

“Uh…hello. You wouldn’t be able to tell me what’s one step up from scrambled eggs, would you?” Crowley asked.

She took one look at him, muttered “you poor dear” and dragged him into her flat (that smelled oddly like jasmine tea and mint) and went about the awful business of teaching Crowley how to cook. Her name was Miranda and she was smart as a whip and cracked like one too. She swore colourfully and often and had no issues smacking Crowley for making stupid mistakes. 

So you can imagine they got along famously. 

On their third day in her kitchen, he was finally getting the hang of browning butter when she turned to Crowley and asked, “is all this food meant to be for the blonde gentleman you bring around sometimes?”

Crowley’s pot immediately lit on fire. 

“Fucking hell,” Miranda cursed, taking the pot from him and submerging it in the sink. Crowley had already grabbed her paper fan to get the smoke away from the fire detector. (They’d done this a few times by now.)

When things had calmed down, Miranda crossed her arms and stared at him, leaning back against the sink.

“I -well – he’s just….yes,” Crowley admitted, wondering if he was going to get booted for being one of the gays -as the elderly tended to put it. Miranda didn’t really seem like one of those elderly but she still had a crucifix hanging in her living room that gave Crowley the chills whenever he walked by it.

“Ah see that’s your problem – your throwing love on it like gasoline on your tax reciepts. No wonder everything you make goes up in flames,” she said with a chuckle. Crowley smiled in relief (no being thrown out then). “Reign it in, boy.”

“It’s gotta be perfect though,” Crowley grumbled, already fishing out the soap and gloves to clean her pot. Miranda flicked him on the nose.

“Settle for edible first,” she scolded warmly. 

“Yes m’am,” he replied.

All of this is to say that Crowley may have actually forgotten to heed Hastur’s warning. And it might not have been until he was in the store picking up Miranda’s grocery order and wondering how he had succumbed to being an old woman’s errand boy when two archangels snuck up beside him that he finally remembered.

“Crowley – right?” Gabriel said as he come up to the right of him. Sandalphon came up to the left, blocking any means of escape.

“Right…and I’m gonna say, Chief Asshole Angel and Superintendent Asshole Angel.”

Gabriel’s smile tightened at the edges. “Cute,” he said. “Listen, we’re not here to linger. I just wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me for what?” Crowley did not at all like the tone in the archangel’s voice.

“Well, for helping us take care of our problem!” Gabriel chuckled darkly. “We needed something to hold Aziraphale accountable for and you provided him with the perfect unforgivable sin to be punished for.” Gabriel plucked an apple out of the bags Crowley was holding and inspected it. “And since today’s the day that punishment gets handed down, we just wanted to come and say we couldn’t have done it without you.” He took a loud bite of the apple and Crowley would have told him the implications of taking an apple from the serpent of Eden but his mind was already busy imagining Aziraphale’s wings being torn off by a merciless gang of blood thirsty angels and the very idea was making the paper bags start to smoke.

He put them down with a hasty “I’ll be back for these” to the attendant before bolting out the door, Gabriel and Sandalphon’s laughter following him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I'm entirely happy with what I'm doing in the next couple chapters - so it might take a bit longer to get them up.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go again.  
> "Watch the Good Omens TV Show" they said.  
> "Its really good" they said.  
> "Its got David Tenant in it" they said.  
> So what do I do? I watch it, of course!  
> Like an idiot.
> 
> Cue me, one month later, balls deep in fanfiction YET AGAIN. Was this supposed to be a one-shot? Maybe. Was I trying to keep a strict ten-page limit on it? Definitely maybe. Did it matter? NO! 
> 
> So here you go, have at it. Hopefully you enjoy it as much as my brain apparently does.


End file.
